Running
by Slash McSlash
Summary: Munch learns there's a reason why Fin does the running.


**Disclaimer:** I obviously don't own Law and Order SVU. Honestly, people.

**A/N: **Another Law and Order fic! But this one isn't slash, just John and Fin being silly gooses. R & R if you can, please! :3

Running

by

Norikio Na No Da

Monday morning invariably meant somebody in the department was in a tiff with somebody else, and most of the time these roles were filled by resident detectives John Munch and Odafin Tutuola. This was one of those Mondays.

The ball was in Fin's court when the mismatched duo walked into the squad room that morning. "All I'm saying," said Fin loudly, as they made a bee-line for the coffee machine, "is it wouldn't hurt you to run down a perp or two once in a while."

"Actually, it probably would," Munch countered. He maneuvered skillfully in front of Fin so that he was first at the machine, and as he was pouring that sweet liquid salvation into his coffee mug he continued to argue his side. "You're the one who's always pointing out how _old_ I am. Well, _old_ men like me shouldn't be chasing guys down alleys, should we? Might fall and break a hip."

Fin rolled his eyes. "You're bound to get a little busted up in this profession anyhow. Worse things happen than a broken hip. Like a bullet in the ass."

"Ha, oh, that's funny." Not actually laughing, Munch brushed past him and made for the desk.

"Look man, I take it back." Fin decided right then and there that pretending to regret his assertion was better than having to go the whole day listening to Munch gripe and jab like an offended child. At this point people were starting to stare, watching to see how the argument would play out, and Fin thought it would be best to save face and end it before it got ridiculous. "I'll chase down the perps, alight? I've gotten used to it. So forget about it."

"Forget about it?" Munch, who was about to sit down, stood up abruptly and put his hands on top of the desk. "Forget about it? Yeah, I'll forget the attack you made on my character. The shameful stain on my reputation. The slanderous accusation you made in front of all of our esteemed colleagues." He waved a hand in the general direction of the squad room, knocking a case report out of a passing uni's hands.

Fin rolled his eyes again as the uni gathered the papers, harrumphed, and walked away. "Alright, fine. Stay mad at me. I don't really care."

"Oh no." Munch's finger was suddenly waggling under Fin's nose. "I'm not mad. But I'm gonna prove to you that you're wrong."

Fin pushed the finger away. "How?"

"Next time we get a runner, I got dibs."

"What, I'm supposed to let a suspected criminal escape just to see you make an ass of yourself? Can't do it, it's against my principles."

"You take the car, you cut him off, just in case. But I promise you, I'll catch that guy without your help."

Fin smirked. This was just too good to pass up. "Alright. Deal."

They shook hands and lifted their coffee cups to their lips simultaneously. Everyone else in the room gave a sigh of relief. At least the squabble had been quelled. For now.

& & &

It wasn't that Munch never chased the runners. He did, sometimes. But he usually hung back while Fin took them down, then read them their rights as Fin collected himself. Or Munch would circle the block in the car. This was probably for the best, Fin knew. It had been established early, though never outright said, that Munch was the swagger in their partnership and Fin was the muscle to back it up. Among other things, of course. So Fin wasn't sure if it was a good idea to just relinquish running responsibility to Munch entirely—but the chance to see Munch admit he was wrong was just too much to pass up. He decided that he would hang back, just for once, and see what happened.

& & &

The opportunity presented itself two days later. They had been assigned a new case, along with Benson and Stabler. Your typical rape-slash-homicide, a woman was found dead at the bottom of a stairwell in an apartment building and tested positive for rape. Some guys had been seen loitering around outside the building just before the victim was found, and one of them was recognized as a Mr. Gregory Fonseca. Just a troublemaker in the neighborhood, a year out of high school and living with his mother, according to the cleaning lady who found the victim on the stairs. Benson and Stabler had gone to talk to the victim's sister, while Munch and Fin were in charge of talking to Fonseca.

When Munch and Fin got out of the car to approach the Fonseca residence, they saw a young man sweeping the stoop with a large broom.

"That him?" Fin muttered. "Don't see that very often. Guess his mom's making him pick up the slack."

"Yeah. Excuse me," Munch called. "Are you Gregory Fonseca?" He held up his shield.

Fonseca took one look at the badge, threw the broom at them as hard as he could, then hopped over the railing of the stoop and ran. Both detectives had dodged the clumsy attack easily, and both were preparing to follow, when Fin remembered the agreement. He smirked at Munch and made an "after you" gesture with his hand.

"I'll take the car," he said.

Munch scowled, but nodded. Then he took off in pursuit as fast as he could.

It had been a while since he had run this hard. Shoes pounding on the pavement, tie flapping over his shoulder, Munch began to appreciate Fin's more comfortable—if, in his opinion, less classy—choice of wardrobe. Fonseca was running like the devil himself was chasing him, and not a stubborn Jewish detective determined to prove his partner wrong. The perp turned the corner and kicked a metal trashcan in Munch's direction as he was doing so. Munch tripped over the trashcan and crashed into a group of other trash and recycling receptacles on the sidewalk. But he got up, cursing violently, and resumed the chase.

There was no point shouting "freeze!" to a perp who already clearly knew you were a cop and was running anyway, so Munch just saved his breath—unless he had to elbow his way through a group of old ladies or hop over a kid drawing in chalk on the pavement, in which case he managed a hasty "NYPD" through his panting. And Gregory would just _not slow down._

At last Fonseca veered into an alley. Munch knew this neighborhood and knew there was a dead end, so he slowed down, but when he stepped into the mouth of the alley he saw that Fonseca was a few rungs up a fire escape ladder. The ladder was five feet off the ground and Munch was beginning to wish he hadn't made this bet in the first place. But then he pictured Fin, smug in his unassuming, "I'm-not-gonna-say-I-told-you-so" way, and he summoned the willpower to take the guy down.

"Alright, kid," he said, reaching up and grabbing hold of Fonseca's ankle, "you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer."

And what did the punk do? He assaulted him again. Fonseca kicked out with the captured foot and caught Munch hard in the face, knocking him down on his ass. Then he scrambled up the ladder onto the landing of the fire escape, and started up the metal ramp to the roof.

"You little…" Munch, holding his nose, paced like an angry animal at the base of the ladder. Rooftop chases were _not_ his area of expertise. And then he saw Fin smirking at him in his mind's eye.

"Alright, John. You've done more impressive things." Munch grasped the highest rung he could reach and started trying to haul himself up. It took a few tries but he managed to get a good hold on the bottom rung with his foot, and then he climbed upward, slowly but surely. Fonseca was already on the roof, but Munch doubted he had gotten far. Unless he found a stairwell. _Damn damn damn._

At last he was on the landing, and he ran up the metal ramps, clanging loudly with each step. Another ladder, and he was on the roof. Scanning the rooftop for Fonseca, he clutched a stitch in his side and tried to catch his breath. No sign of him. But the door to the stairwell was wide open, so Munch figured there was only one way he could've gone.

_I'm getting too old for—NO I'M NOT, _he told himself stubbornly.

He ran down the stairs, but not too fast. After all, he didn't want to end up dead at the bottom of a stairwell like the victim whose death they were investigating. A glance over the railing showed him Fonseca sliding down the last railing to the bottom floor and then racing out of the door, into the city street.

When Munch burst out of that same door a matter of seconds later, he expected Fonseca to be gone, nowhere in sight. But Fonseca was directly in front of him, being pinned to the hood of a car and cuffed…by Fin.

"You want I should read him his rights?" asked Fin, grinning broadly at him. "Or would you like the honor?"

Munch just got into the car on the passenger's side and slammed the door shut.

& & &

"Do you want to explain to me what that is from?"

Cragen was staring pointedly at the gauze taped across Munch's nose.

"Kicked in the face, Cap." Munch folded his arms and frowned. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about it already."

"Oh, I've heard about it. It's all over the department. Detective Munch had his nose broken in wild pursuit of a suspect who turned out to have little if anything to do with the case he is investigating. I just wanted to hear it from _you."_

"It was just a minor fracture. It barely even bled."

"Regardless, it was a pretty stupid thing to do, chasing him up a fire escape."

"Look, Captain, we were going to question the guy, he attacked us and ran, and I pursued. Just doing what I'm paid to. That's all there is to it."

"Really?" Cragen looked skeptical as he came around his desk and leaned against it, drumming his fingers on a stack of papers. "Because I heard this was the result of a dumb argument between you and Fin."

The corner of Munch's mouth quirked up in a barely perceptible smile. "I can't imagine where you got that idea from."

"_That's_ going around the squad room, too. Tutuola bet you you couldn't run down a perp by yourself. And you couldn't. So how much do you owe him?"

"Hey, I can't be held responsible for whatever crazy rumors get passed around the department." Munch shrugged. Truthfully they had never bet anything, just their pride, but that was something Munch was hard-pressed to give up. "This chat is real fun and all, but Fin's waiting for me. We're gonna go over some statements and try and get somewhere with this case. Do you mind?"

Cragen sighed. "Go ahead," he said. "But John. Next time you're going after a runner, try not to let Fin take him down by himself. After all, you're representing us geezers out there. Makes us look bad." He smiled and waved his hand dismissively.

When Munch emerged from the office, Fin watched him approach from his desk. "What'd Cragen want?"

"To sympathize with me in my plight," said Munch. "Knows how it feels to be showed up by whippersnappers like you."

Fin raised his eyebrow. "Whippersnappers?"

"I know, I know. Scratch that. Punks is what I meant." Munch sighed and sat down heavily in his chair.

"If it makes you feel any better, man, I think it's pretty damn impressive you chased the guy all the way up the fire escape and then all the way down the stairwell. Especially that fast. I doubt I could've made that catch if I were in your position, either."

"Good thing you knew where to go with the car," Munch admitted.

Fin chuckled. "Well, to prevent more of these," he said, pointing to the gauze over Munch's nose, "maybe we should go back to me doing the chasing, and you driving the car."

"Yeah, okay." Munch leaned back in his chair and touched his broken nose, grimacing when it stung. Fin looked slightly concerned—he had been trying to hide his worry when driving Munch to the hospital the day before, after discovering the blood—so Munch gave him a typical wily grin. "But I still intend to prove you wrong, Tutuola. Just you wait."

Fin shook his head. "Looking forward to seeing you try, old man."

**FIN**


End file.
